Long Centimeters Poems
Long Centimeters Poems. Below are the most popular long Centimeters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Centimeters poems by poem length and keyword.
I grew up with inches, yards, miles, and feet.
I knew the difference, it was easy, and neat.
But today I am far behind in the dust because
Metric scale is what the new math does.
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Pencil thickness is about one centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Ten Millimeters is one centimeter, reminds me of cents to a dollar.
I may be catching on, so I stand up and holler.
One hundred thousand centimeters is a kilometer, friend.
One hundred centimeters is a meter, did you know that, Uncle Ben?
Millimeters, centimeters, cha cha cha.
Paper thickness is way less than a centimeter. Rah Rah Rah.
Now I think of my recipes. Did they change the tablespoon too?
Do I have to worry about cups, pints, and gallons for my glue?
I used to know my measurements, but everything is new.
Don’t even show me the rest of the new math. It is a boo hoo.
Peter (my bf) and I are at Heraclee beach for the weekend.
It’s a little sliver of heaven, about 11 miles south of Saint Tropez.
It’s too early in the season to swim - being breezy and 72°f -
but it’s still the beach. I’m a neophyte beach bum,
but I’m willing and eager to learn.
I’m valuable even if I’m not being productive [I self-affirm].
something poetic-ish..
The sun’s a drowsy tyrant, not yet willing to unforgivingly scorch.
The beach is like glistening sugar, the sand still cool enough to walk, rogue west winds occasionally whip it to an ankle stinging sandpaper.
Majestic umbrella pines are dancing the hula. The shrub-like understory is dominated by drought-tolerant lavenders and rosemary that dense the air with perfume which complements the mediterranean brine.
There’s laughter, off somewhere, like wind-chimes playing clear, just above the ever-roiling sound of the surf. Birds are everywhere, gulls walk around like they’re bored, cory float on air, like kites and petrels skim against the wind, centimeters above choppy waves.
The beach isn’t crowded - French kids are still in school - but a few hardy, oiled, bronzed and sculpted bodies are sprawled on the pristine sand, like offerings to the god of leisure.
..
Our hotel has its own private cove, with adirondack wooden lounges under yellow parasols. Pastel blue-vested wait-staffers circle, on the quarter-hour, eager to please.
“Deux (two) American Martinis, S'il te plaît! (please),” I ask, expectantly.
It’s a nude beach, but Peter got an alarmed look when I joked I might go topless. “Annick (my older sister) always goes topless,” I informed him.
“I’d like to see that,” he’d said, and when I gave him a raised eyebrow, he amended, “That came out wrong.”
.
.
songs for this..
Summer of Our Love by Triangle Sun
That life by Unknown Mortal Orchestra
The kiss of Venus by Dominic Fike, Paul McCartney
S_ A_ H_ born...
twenty three years ago
today February 4th, 2022
begat about nine months prior,
approximately late April/early May 1998,
she exited thru fully dilated cervix
10 centimeters or just under 4 inches
immediately cherished as a precious gift
her radiant pink flesh did healthily glow
despite developmental delay
observed during babyhood stage,
blessed timely intervention
hallelujah to countless social services
helped bring her up to speed
and in accordance with average statistics
pertaining to population of girls
at various ages of her life
most vital metrics indicated she did grow,
and matured into an attractive young lady
now mindful (courtesy common sense
and valuable life lessons)
said offspring quite aware the necessity
to comply with status quo
unlike this nonestablishmentarian papa,
who frittered away priceless time show
wing measly abysmal track records
regarding academic and employment, though
not necessarily criminal, I barely lived
analogously solely placing big toe
within streaming rush of opportunities
upon reflection, I experience woe.
Thank you immeasurably youngest daughter
valuable Shayna Punim
beloved gifted progeny bold
coaching, daring, encouraging... herself
whether the weather hot or cold
to take positive growth risks
you count as more precious
than fine spun gold
enhancing mein kampf,
whose absence warrants
birth mama or papa to hold
our darling offspring,
when she clamors for attention,
yet prohibitive physical distance
renders impossible mission
to proffer sought after nurturing,
hence the best attempt to lyft
your spirits (if sagging)
finds me driving in one direction
across information superhighway insync with
electronic uber global positioning satellite
merely wishing ye happy birthday
now intent to email thee told.
YOU GO GIRL!
Some time ago
One or the few of human beings
Had figured to create a crepe
Before
They were hunting birds
And covering their bodies with no feathers
In clay
…
Produce the GUILLOTINE
….
And throwing those birds in fire
They figured clay is hardened by the this
And this resulted in cookware introduction
With what
The boiled foods appeared in Mankind
Due very basic eating the desire
This finding
This the finding
This the very finding
You were supposed to found
Being by then by nothing stupid really bound
The Garlic can be prophylactic or the medicinal
Stupidity against the modern world there is no vaccina
Some time ago
The humans were drawing scenes of hunt on caves the stones
Today they want that everything is digitized
Researchers, wankers, users of the phone
We reckon shall be greatly minimized
And then in land or the prior the agriculture
We won't be buying the imported the the fruit
For price exceeding any sane the bound
These centimeters are these way converted proper to the foot
I listen to the screaming, squabbling, slapping and the slamming
I am perched on the edge of their couch as a non-honored guest,
Refusing to buy into their circus.
A child rolls on my feet but I refuse to react.
Someone throws a book through the air.
It lands with a loud plop six centimeters to my right.
I take a dainty swig of peach tea because I cannot
find these people’s liquor
Stomping now ensues.
Slamming and screaming.
One of the monkeys begins wailing.
Three hours of watching the “children” has felt like three months.
I roll my eyes, and turn the TV up to drown out their circus.
My prissy stuck-up daughter flounces in
wearing sixteen clothing store bags.
She begins to chastise me.
Have they had lunch?
Did I put the extra sauce on their pizza?
They are five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty.
Not my circus, not my monkeys, I tell her.
I could not figure out her stuck-up confection oven actually.
Feel guilty? Not hardly. This is her circus. These are her monkeys
She is the one who had fifteen children
I rarely come here
Now I remember why
Did Sally slap Billy? She asks me
How the heck would I know?
I am just trying to enjoy my peach tea
I get up, collect my purse, and kiss her good bye
I mean really kiss her good bye.
Now that the CV19 virus has kicked in I am under curfew.
I could get jailed for six months or have to pay a huge fine
for going outside my own three ring circus.
I have to stay in my own rings.
Away from her monkeys
Little Tyro seemed normal at birth
Green color, long enough, the proper girth
But when he didn't grow for nigh on a year
Mom and Dad Tyrannosaurus were filled with fear
One day they took poor Tyro to the dino-vet
Who confirmed his parents' worst fears yet
Little Tyro had a very, very rare mutation
That caused its victims diminished maturation
Little Tyro would barely get to grow at all
In fact he'd barely be 50 centimeters tall
He'd never be able to go outside and play
For he'd be stepped on by others right away
While his prognosis certainly wasn't very good
Tyro made his way in life, as best he could
Then one day, a miracle came along
That freed him from a destiny, gone so wrong
A giant meteor whooshed down and struck the Earth
To climate changes and an Ice Age it gave birth
All the big, cold-blooded dinosaurs up and died
But not Tyro, who tiny body stayed warm inside
For there was something the dino-vet just hadn't known
Tyro's mutation meant he was a mammal full-blown
Warm-blooded, friendly, cute and full of fun --
He became Neanderthal Man's favorite pet, bar none!
June 19, 2019
Entry in 'Dinosaurs For Children' contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
What a cameo in the hot harmattan eve !
Sweet soursop scents marinated with the haze
And all the other ones impasse in my qui vive .
Words became satisfying minting juice ,
Black with currents ,mingled bittersweet after
Soft like lush ripe and delicious in undying truth .
But In this colorful world of pines and apples ,
With the sour and the dapples between the toil
We will weather the rains and dry foggy nights .
In all laughter and of youthful lovers delight ,
Not of science of apples falling for clues
Nor of religion with the doom preceding the bite .
But with all hope hope from a trampled rose ,
Earnestly rooting for the hazelnuts
Swinging between the canes of sugars and beats.
As it touches the ground like a whispered prayer,
With heaven's own sacramental wine
Wholesome and pristine “
Five centimeters beneath the dangling papayas ,
under a starry night gaze with splendor
Can you see how vividly the moonlight scrawls the pomegranate.
Beneath moist soils with seeded holes !
Hold your grounds your sprouting melon
So here’s to your juice you amazing Tangelo
Hold your grounds with bunches of love .
They came with contracts, not lullabies,
measured my uterus in centimeters,
and called it kindness—
that I, with cracked heels and a hungry husband,
could carry a stranger’s heir
for twenty-five thousand rupees a month.
No one asked
if I dreamed of holding my child
after the push,
or if I wept when I bled
for someone else’s joy.
They called it “surrogacy,”
as if I were a substitute teacher,
filling in until the real mother arrived
in her perfume and foreign accent.
They injected hormones into my thighs
like love notes from a man I’d never meet.
I swelled—
not with hope,
but with leased life.
I whispered prayers into my belly
knowing I wouldn’t be allowed
to kiss the forehead I grew.
My name disappeared
from the birth certificate.
The baby cried, but not for me.
I was paid.
Told to rest.
Told to be grateful
for the hospital bed
and the air-conditioned ward.
But how does one evict
a soul that lived inside you?
I walked home,
hands empty,
womb hollow like a room once loved.
My own children didn’t understand
why I was too tired
to hug them that night.
This body—
a shrine, they said.
But shrines burn incense,
not contracts.
And now I wait,
for another woman’s child
to stir inside me again—
not for love,
but for rent.
By Sharda Gupta
Sunshine flowers fairies residency established nifty pixies paradoxically complexed; termed nocturnal.
Gnomes way my magic mushroom.
In my magic garden,
You see.
Fairies coloring gnomes playing hide-n-go-seek—Why I wicker baskets lined organic paper sheathe.
Basking sunshine only stones throw away from mush made verdure.
Mushrooms of dark purple magic record inches tall/divided merely centimeters width multitude.
Cultivation combined dehydration, supremest eruct seismic expansion.
Enlargement capacity mental trance gigantic, titanic moNSTR0SIty
Comparably selfish in reality are minuscule.
The other hand's on specially unique by human normalcy size.
What we refer common little people
And
Little folk know how to party!
In my mushroom liturgy,
Trouble makes err shine sun upon may magistrate.
Fairies/pixies, even gnomes agree do little periled peeps throw one bright stoned look.
Beg your party mention not did how way cook?
6-26-16
We Ignore Each Other With Art
We ignore each other like an art practiced for years,
even when we are a few centimeters away from touching,
we pretend that the air between us doesn't burn intense violet,
that this empty space is not full of raw electricity.
Our eyes meet and everything stops for a moment,
for a heartbeat too long compressed eternity,
then we both look away as if nothing happened,
as if we didn't just die and resurrect in a second.
Yet I catch you looking and I tell myself I imagined it,
then you catch me and I know you imagined nothing it's real,
you pass by me so close I feel your silence,
it caresses my skin with invisible fingers of rough velvet.
I remain motionless like ice but something in me moves,
something unravels melts like an underground river to the surface,
how long will we keep doing this—ignoring each other like masters,
because the wall between us no longer keeps me away now.
The wall pulls me toward you instead of pushing me away paradox,
in the way only you could pull me without touching,
we ignore each other like a perfected art but it burns hard,
harder than touch would burn if we allowed ourselves everything.
The air between us is thick like poisoned condensed honey,
each centimeter of distance is full of unspoken words,
our eyes collide and retreat like clashing stars,
and everything stops for a beat that contains universes.
We pretend we don't feel how silence screams louder,
how our ignoring is more intense than the embrace,
you pass by me and I feel how your absence touches me,
how your lack is fuller than fullness how the void is full.
I remain motionless but something in me dances collapses,
the wall we built brick by brick of ice,
no longer protects me from you—it pulls me like an inverse magnet,
in the way only you could destroy my empty soul.
We ignore each other like a religion practiced daily with rituals,
but our ignoring is more sacred than clear recognition,
how long will we be able to pretend we don't see each other,
that we don't feel how the air burns with violet and golden flames.